


Survivor's Guilt

by Pandalandalopalis



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Don't worry this has a (somewhat) happy ending, Gen, It's tagged Cassian/Jyn cause she thinks about him a lot but yknow, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, he still dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandalandalopalis/pseuds/Pandalandalopalis
Summary: “Many Bothans died to bring us this information,” Mon Mothma informed the group in a steady voice. Jyn could hardly believe it. She had planned on staying silent, but . . . She was fuming. She was angry. “No offense,” she barked suddenly, causing the room full of people to look her way, “but all we rebels ever do is die.”OrJyn Erso is the sole survivor of the Scarif battle and has to deal with the death of her friends, an optimistic young Jedi, and a new Death Star. All alone. (Rated T for language.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this: https://youtu.be/zdukWtJwlPU?t=1m36s

Jyn always expected that dying would be hard. She expected that she wouldn’t go down without a fight – that she would fight tooth and nail until her last dying breath. She expected that she would be afraid of death, of dying, of becoming non-existent, or of what comes after if there was an after to go to.

She didn’t expect this.

She felt almost . . . peaceful; Cassian’s arm was around her shoulders and his weight was pressed against her side as they walked down the beach. Yes, she was afraid. But she was also ready. In the elevator, she and Cassian had accepted what they already knew: They were not getting off this planet.

Except –

Except they were wrong.

They had just sat down in the sand in a way that said, “I’m ready to die,” when a rebel ship landed next to them.

“GET IN!” the pilot screamed at them, hurried and scared. It seemed as if the decision to save them was made in a split-second, and if they waited any longer the pilot would change their mind and leave.

Cassian made a noise when Jyn pulled him up. It didn’t sound good. Somewhere around broadcasting the plans and being saved by him, Jyn had forgotten that Cassian had been shot. She pressed her hand to his wound as she helped him to the ship. They got in as quickly as they could; the pilot took off in the same fashion. Jyn didn’t recognize her – but she supposed that that didn’t matter right now.

Jyn and Cassian could _see_ the white light engulfing the planet as they tore away from it. She suddenly wondered about all the people that would die on that planet, on that beach.

K-2 was gone, they both knew that for sure. But what about the others? Bodhi? Chirrut? Baze? The soldiers that had decided to go with them, to help them, even when the Council forbade it?

Jyn wasn’t a doctor, but she knew that Cassian was in critical condition by the time they reached the Rebel Base. He repeatedly fell unconscious in her arms during the flight, and despite Jyn’s pleads with him to stay awake, he couldn’t seem to follow her orders.

Jyn waited outside the operating room for what seemed like hours. She wasn’t exactly sure how long she was out there, but to her it was like a lifetime.

During the waiting, a man from the Council came to her. He told her that no one else from her crew had returned to the Base.

“But there’s still a chance, isn’t there?” she said, her voice small for the first time in a long time. “You don’t know for sure. They could come back. _We_ came back.” She looked down the hall at the doorway to the operating room. She felt very, very small in that moment. When Jyn turned back at the man, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to say.

“It is . . . unlikely,” he finally admitted. “So far, you and Captain Andor are the only two survivors from Scarif.”

Jyn wanted to hit something. She wanted to scream. How could her and Cassian be the only two left? Jyn felt exhausted. She felt exhausted in her bones, in her mind. She tried to remember when she last slept.

“The important thing is. . .” he continued slowly, “my daughter received the plans for the Death Star. We should have them any time now.”

The man from the Council was gone when the doctor came out of the operating room. She looked as tired as Jyn felt. A cold feeling rushed down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” she began, and Jyn knew everything would go downhill from those first words. “We did everything we could, but we could not repair the damage from his wound.”

Jyn felt numb. She felt nothing. Her exhausted, grieving mind was having a hard time processing what the doctor was saying. She blinked away tears that she hadn’t realized were there. They rolled down her cheeks and tickled her chin when they fell.

“I’m sorry, I don’t, I’m not. . .” Jyn fought hard to find the words. “What is it that you’re saying, exactly?”

“He’s dead,” the doctor said bluntly, but it was the kind of bluntness that Jyn needed at this moment. “He died on the operating table. We couldn’t save him. _I’m sorry_.”

When things like this happen, it’s the kind of situation where one would expect everything to stop. The world would stop turning. People would stop breathing. Things would stop moving entirely. Everything would just . . . _stop_.

But nothing stopped.

Jyn couldn’t breathe.

_I am the sole survivor of the battle of Scarif._

_Cassian is dead._

_My friend died._

_My_ friends _died._

_My father died._

_There is no one left._

_I am alone._

* * *

Under different circumstances, Jyn probably would have enjoyed meeting Luke Skywalker.

He had brought the Death Star plans with him to the Rebel Base, along with the Princess Leia Organa and a smuggler whose name Jyn had already forgotten. She didn’t expect him to stay long.

Luke Skywalker was only a few years younger than she was, but he was already more optimistic than she had ever been at that age. He was so full of . . . _hope_. Jyn cringed at the word; the concept had always been something that she had shared with Cassian – with her rebel friends. They had hope when the Council did not.

Luke Skywalker hadn’t experienced the war the way she had. He didn’t have to be in hiding for the majority of his life (something that Jyn would later learn she was wrong about); he wasn’t forced into the rebellion and wasn’t raised by a rebel terrorist; he didn’t carry the pain that she carried. (When her anger subsided, she later found out that he _did_ carry some of the pain that she carried: his father was killed by Darth Vader; his family was taken out by the Empire; his friend died in front of his eyes.)

Jyn didn’t like that Luke Skywalker was a Jedi. It wasn’t like she had a particular hate for any and all Jedi; she hadn’t exactly met any of them before she met him. It was that _she_ got to meet him. She got to meet him when others didn’t.

Her father would’ve wanted to meet a Jedi.

Chirrut would’ve wanted to meet a Jedi.

What was worse, Luke Skywalker treated the Rebellion and being a Jedi like it was some kind of fun little adventure. His optimism made her sick.

She had lost too many people.

* * *

The day the Death Star was destroyed was the happiest day of her life. She was so glad the fucking thing was finally gone that tears wouldn’t stop pouring down her face. It was everything her and Cassian and her father and everyone had worked for. Scarif wasn’t for nothing. Jyn could finally be at peace knowing that their sacrifice wasn’t made in vain. The uncountable amount of souls who died for this died for a purpose.

Jyn came to the ceremony. She watched as Luke Skywalker and the smuggler ( _Han Solo_ , she reminded herself) were presented with medals of Bravery by Princess Leia Organa. Any piece of hate she might have saved for Luke Skywalker was gone now – it was his shot that destroyed the Death Star. He completed what her father had started.

The Council had decided that the Great Temple of Massassi (where the ceremony was being held) was the perfect place to put the monument for the people who died during the Battle of Scarif. When the medal ceremony had ended, Jyn headed there.

A whole wall took up the names. It took her an hour to find all of them, but she did.

_Bodhi Rook_

_Chirrut Îmwe_

_Baze Malbus_

She found her father’s name, too. He didn’t die on Scarif, but he was the reason they were even there in the first place. He was the reason there were plans to get.

When Jyn found his name, she touched her hand to the stone it was engraved in.

_Cassian Andor_

“We did it,” she whispered. “We won.”

Jyn noticed someone standing next to her, but she didn’t look or say anything. If the person was grieving, like she was (finally successfully) doing, then she didn’t want to bother them. But then they spoke.

“Are these all the people who died for the rebellion?”

Jyn felt a sudden anger overcome her. _The rebellion? There isn’t a wall big enough to count the hundreds – thousands – millions who have died for the rebellion – Who do you think you–_

But as soon as she had turned her head to look at the young man standing next to her, her inner monologue stopped. It was Luke Skywalker. His face was blissfully ignorant as his eyes glazed over the names. Jyn’s own expression softened.

“No. These are just the people who died getting the plans for the Death Star.”

Luke’s head snapped towards her and his face fell. He glanced back at the wall full of names. He looked horrified.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice, and he didn’t say anything else.

* * *

Jyn was numb. She hadn’t felt this numb since Cassian’s death. But that didn’t last long; her whole body soon filled with a white-hot rage.

“No,” she said in a voice that gave away that she was trying not to shout, “ _No_. That can’t be right. You’re _wrong_. Your sources are _wrong_. They have to be.”

“I assure you, our sources are correct. The Empire _is_ building a new Death Star. It is certain.”

Jyn stood and slammed her hands down on the table. “ _NO!”_ she shouted. “It can’t be! My father died so the Death Star would be destroyed – my _friends_ – _Cassian_ – They died to protect people from this thing AND YOU’RE TRYING TO TELL ME THEY ARE BUILDING ANOTHER ONE?”

Her skin felt prickly and hot and uncomfortable. Her eyes blurred with tears and she couldn’t see anything.

Someone tried to comfort her and she lashed out; she stormed from the room and somehow made her way outside. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Jyn collapsed and fell to her knees. Her breath came out in short gasps and her head felt like it was made out of air.

How could this have happened? Everything that she did, that her father did, that her friends did – now it was all in vain. Their sacrifice was made for nothing. They died for _nothing_.

Jyn screamed. She screamed loudly. She screamed until her throat felt raw. She screamed until her head hurt and she couldn’t scream anymore.

She had lost too many fucking people for this to happen. She had worked too fucking hard for this to happen. (She was too fucking alone for this to happen without anybody else to help her through it.)

* * *

“The Emperor has made a critical error and the time for our attack has come.”

Jyn was sitting in the middle of the room, listening to the briefing for their next mission. She was still incredibly angry about the whole thing, but she learned to internalize it. It didn’t help anyone – or their plan to take down the new Death Star – if she was upset all the time. So, Jyn stayed quiet and listened to Mon Mothma.

“The data brought to use by the Bothan spies pinpoint the exact location of the Emperor’s new battle station. We also know that the weapon systems of this Death Star are not yet operational. The Imperial fleet spread throughout the galaxy in a vain effort to engage with it is relatively unprotected. But most important of all – we’ve learned that the Emperor himself is personally overseeing the final stages of the construction of the Death Star.”

Jyn perked up slightly at this bit of information. If they could destroy the Death Star, right now, with the Emperor still on it. . .

“Many Bothans died to bring us this information,” Mon Mothma informed the group in a steady voice. Jyn could hardly believe it. She had planned on staying silent, but _. . ._ She was fuming. She was _angry_.

“No offense,” she barked suddenly, causing the room full of people to look her way, “but all we rebels ever do is _die_.”

“Jyn–”

“ _No._ ” She stood. “Many Bothans died to bring us this information? How many? Was it more than Scarif?”

Mon Mothma sighed. “Jyn–”

“WAS IT MORE THAN SCARIF?”

“. . .Unlikely.”

“Right.” Jyn could fell hot tears spilling from her eyes. “Because you didn’t _need_ that many, right? Because you had a plan! Because you didn’t let a rag-tag team of FUCKING FIFTEEN PEOPLE lead the retrieval of information BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO FUCKING SCARED TO DO IT YOURSELF.”

Everyone in the room was quiet. Even Han Solo, for once, had nothing to say.

“All we ever do is die,” she repeated in a smaller voice. “We die so that other rebels can die and they die so that more rebels have the chance to do the same thing. On and on and on until the rebellion is successful – and then what? Will you stand on our graves and wash our blood from your hands? As far as I’m concerned, the people of the Empire aren’t the only murderers at fault here.”

* * *

Jyn stole a ship and went to Yavin 4 to see the monument in the Great Temple of Massassi, despite how dangerous it might have been to do so. She sat under Cassian’s name, defeated.

“I can’t do this alone, Cassian,” she whispered. “How could you let me do this alone? You never let me do anything alone. You were always there, despite how annoying it was sometimes. Even when you were _shot_ , you still came through. So how could you do this now? When I need you the most?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I wasn’t supposed to be the only one to survive Scarif.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “We should have died there – with everyone else.”

* * *

It didn’t bring her as much satisfaction when the second Death Star was destroyed. First, despite all her pleads and shouting, the Council wouldn’t let her be a part of that mission. Some doctor had decided that she was showing symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder and refused to let her anywhere near the new Death Star.

At first, Jyn had tried to fight the decision tooth and nail. But she was just too tired to keep it up. In fact, in the end, she was relieved. Part of her was afraid that if she fought, she would take her whole concept of “All we rebels ever do is die” to an extreme. She knew she couldn’t let herself do that. Her father wouldn’t want that, and neither would Cassian or her other friends.

Second, she felt no ties to the destruction of the new Death Star. With the last Death Star, her father had personally created a weakness for it – a weakness that he dedicated his life for. Jyn had personally broadcasted those plans to the Rebellion. Her friends had personally sacrificed their lives to accomplish that task.

Jyn went to the celebration on Endor. She listened to shouts and cheering and felt marginally better than she had before. The war was finally over. Everything they had fought for had finally come to pass.

The Council did not, in the end, have to wash the blood of Luke Skywalker off of their hands.

Jyn watched the fully-realized Jedi from across the bonfire. His back was turned to her, and he was leaning against a tree like he was looking at something. Jyn saw nothing, but she felt warm, felt _something_ , for the first time in a long time.

Luke came to sit next to her sometime later. He handed her a drink, and they sat in silence for a few moments.

“You’re not as alone as you think you are, you know,” he finally spoke up. Jyn swallowed her drink and looked over at him, eyebrows knitted together. “I know you’ve been in this rebellion for much longer than I have; I know you miss the people you’ve lost. And I know that nothing I could say could make up for that, but . . . You’re not alone. I just thought you should know that.”

After what seemed like a long time, Jyn slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “We’ve all lost people,” she said, “No matter if you’ve been in this rebellion for fifteen years or fifteen months. Thank you, Luke.”

The galaxies rejoiced at the end of the war, and Jyn knew that somewhere, somehow, her family was celebrating with them.

**Author's Note:**

> It's probably bad that when I was writing the end of this I started shipping Jyn and Luke, right?


End file.
